From Fear
by TMBlue
Summary: COMPLETE! Ron deals with anxiety while on Auror leave with Harry, cleaning up the world after the war. Characters: Ron and Harry, Ship: Ron/Hermione


_**A/N:** This is a one shot I typed into my Blackberry late last night. Just 750 words or so of angsty hope and longing. I hope you enjoy it!_

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**From Fear**

"I just want to _feel _safe, you know?"

Harry looked at me with big green eyes. Had they gotten larger somehow since... before?

There was this feeling of eventually. I've sometimes thought maybe it was simply starvation.

"You're safe with me," he said.

"Oh yeah?" I teased. "A bit sure of yourself."

"No."

He was right, of course. He was never alone. He was protected. And I was part of that 'him'. I shouldn't be afraid, surrounded by plans and rules and schemes. I ached for them, like I ached for her.

"Do you think she misses me?" I asked, needing the correct answer, which made it impossible to discern the truth - Harry knew what I needed, too...

"Just because she can't write to you and spell it out... doesn't mean it isn't true."

He paused and dipped his head, lowering his eyes as he slipped off his shoes.

"She misses you."

I nodded, though he couldn't see me.

I hoped for truth. I couldn't know it, though I tried rational list making. She'd kissed me before we left, when I'd set out with Harry in August. She'd cried when I told her I wouldn't see her onto the train. She'd held me too long, past our Portkey when I'd taken Harry's hand to go.

Cleaning up the world was just as hard as saving it... only now, we were only two. It wasn't just lonely and weary... it was cold mystery. Nearly November now, she'd be buried in books, studying, and the smell of dust and ink filled my mind as I hoped some more.

I removed Harry's glasses for him, placed them on the little table between two bunks, and he took off his soot blackened shirt as I stretched. I climbed into a low bunk, and Harry climbed in behind me. I shivered, and he placed his palm firmly against my back as I turned away from him.

I shivered again and he pinched me.

"Thanks," I said, clutching the sheet to my chest. A routine of awakening when I'd subconsciously plan a nightmare.

"Any time."

I felt him shift onto his back, and he pressed his bare shoulder against my spine.

"Keep still," he demanded, made less threatening by the yawn that cut through his words.

"Are you never afraid, really?" I asked, eyes searching through the dark for some distraction against the cold inside the depths of my chest.

"I am," he admitted, pausing to ponder. "But we have each other."

"Do you think..." I began, pondering too, "that I don't trust you, and that's why... that's why I'm still afraid, even more now that it's over?"

The question hung there as he nudged my back harder with his shoulder, firm pressure easing the muscles along my vertebrae. He knew which 'over' I meant, the one that had been everything. And I'd found so few words to be honestly necessary, when he already knew. Like saying someone's name to remind them what it is, as if they've forgotten...

"Ron, you wouldn't be here if you didn't trust me."

He always said _my _name when he didn't need to. The one unnecessary, extra word in our shared shorthand vocabulary that he wouldn't shake.

"That's a relief," I said quietly.

And it was, to know that he believed my own truth. I'd die for him. Never could remember a time when I wouldn't have. If I couldn't use the word 'trust' to describe our connection, it was only because the word lacked the depth of meaning necessary...

We breathed, staggered at first, but adjusting to match as an automatic sync, accustomed to being together.

"I'm taking you home," he said finally, and my lips parted as I tried to understand.

"What are you on about?" I asked through the new reverberation of anticipation inside my ears, my lips suddenly dry, heart in my throat.

"I told you, she misses you."

I shivered, and I felt him shift to press his hand against my back again. Everything stopped and I felt my temperature rise preemptively, lips already prepared to tilt as hers met mine when we'd meet again.

It could be soon, after Harry's prophetic words.

I'd forgotten about soon.

"Pinch me," I awed as I shivered again, holding my excited breath for the moment of exhaled fear that always followed. Waiting to be freed.

I felt his thumb and index finger close tightly against the exposed flesh of my left side.

And it was no longer fear. It was possibility.

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_**A/N:** So, I guess this story is kind of mysterious, leaving a lot of details out... which was sort of what I was going for. But I realize now that it may be a tad confusing. Basically, as I stated in the summary, Ron is suffering from anxiety through this story, so he's having bouts of illogical or slightly irrational fear. The fact is that even though this is the case, he actually **does **have things to be afraid of really, considering what he's out there doing with Harry, raids and missions and such for the Ministry. The idea is that Harry is providing a sort of 'trigger' for Ron's fear/panic by touching him, pinching him, etc. It's a way to focus elsewhere. Ron can sort of allow that to help, if that makes sense. Please let me know if you find anything about this still unclear :D Thanks for the reviews so far, everybody! xx_


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